


Slide

by wolfayal



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Arm Fucking, Biting, Established Relationship, Geralt's Canonically Giant Cock, Intercrural Sex, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Scent Kink, Size Difference If You Squint, Switch Geralt, Trans Male Character, if that's a thing?, thigh fucking, trans!Jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:01:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22779121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfayal/pseuds/wolfayal
Summary: Jaskier realized three things: one, a proper bed after weeks on the road felt amazing. Two, he was dreadfully, horribly bored. And three, it had been an agonizingly long time since he had received a proper fucking.Or, power bottom trans Jaskier gets his brains fucked out.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 22
Kudos: 602





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**Author's Note:**

> Honestly I wrote this because I am a transman who is thirsty for Geralt and also because I hadn't seen enough transguy getting thigh fucked fics. Also this is my first time posting to Ao3.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Edit: As my beta just reminded me, to clear up any confusion here when Jaskier's cock is being referred to, we're talking about a testosterone enhanced clit. Sorry if anyone who read this earlier got thrown for a loop by that!

Sprawled on a bed, finally big enough for both of them for once, Jaskier realized three things. One, he had forgotten how luxurious something as simple as a poorly stuffed mattress could feel, especially after weeks of sleeping on hard ground amid blankets smelling of horse with a faint undercurrent of monster entrails. 

Two, without any daring adventures to embellish in song he was dreadfully, horribly _bored_ , a state which he absolutely loathed and led him inevitably to a scenario with his trousers around his ankles and a cuckolded spouse furiously chasing after him. 

Which led to the third thing on his mind: he couldn’t remember when he had last had a good proper fuck and that simply would _not_ do. 

He craned his head over to look at Geralt rigorously polishing and cleaning his swords. Geralt could easily spend the rest of the evening tending his equipment and as much as he enjoyed watching the muscles in Geralt’s arms flex as he twisted and rubbed the metal, it only succeeded in further reminding Jaskier of how long this particular dry spell had gone on. Geralt gave a surprisingly gentle caress and flick of his wrist to the pommel of his steel sword and things had finally passed beyond intolerable. There were _much_ better swords and sheaths for the witcher to ply his strong hands to. 

Jaskier stretched his arms up and behind his head and let an overdramatic, and slightly wanton, groan escape his lips. Geralt rewarded him with a brief flick of his eyes and a grunt before returning to his blades. Well, at least he had won acknowledgement that he existed. 

He rolled onto his side and resumed watching Geralt at work on his weapons. His mind wandered to those same hands treating an entirely different weapon to that same firm stroking and petting. Jaskier found his hand sliding under the band of his loose trousers, mimicking the movements of Geralt’s hands. He didn’t need to pretend to be wanton when he groaned again.

Geralt grunted and rolled his eyes.

“Really, Jaskier?”

The bard flashed him an impish grin, hand still happily stroking himself.

“What am I supposed to do, with you taunting me with your lovely hands stroking those, mmmm, magnificent swords of yours.” A faint dampness was pooling in this trousers, his folds becoming slicker and fuller under his fingers. Perhaps he had miscalculated just _how_ hungry he was.

“That’s your problem, Jas-” Geralt suddenly went rigid, nostrils flaring and eyes dilating, swords suddenly forgotten on his lap. A grunt, no a _growl_ rumbled from his throat, a feral gleam to his bewitching eyes.

Jaskier allowed himself a pleased smirk as the air grew heavy between them.

“A man has needs, Geralt.” His voice was thick, dripping around them both.

With practiced care Geralt set his swords aside and stood, coming to the bed and looming over Jaskier. Those lurid golden eyes rode over his body, letting hints of Geralt’s own hunger hang in the air.

Geralt tilted his head and locked eyes with Jaskier.

“And what would my needs be, bard?” The bed groaned as Geralt leaned in.

Jaskier slowly sat up, bringing him eye to eye with Geralt. He could feel the heat pouring off Geralt’s body, tasted it as he snagged the bigger man’s lips in a teasing kiss. The witcher groaned into his mouth, hands settling on Jaskier’s waist. _Perfect_.

Jaskier swiftly wrapped his legs around Geralt, pulling him flush against his body.

“I never said it was _your_ needs, my dear witcher.” 

Jaskier tongued the shell of Geralt’s ear, rewarded with a faint shudder and and a bone rattling groan. “Get the chamomile oil,” he whispered, releasing Geralt briefly from the prison of his thighs.

Geralt got to his feet in one delightfully self-assured swift movement, amber eyes glowing hungrily down at Jaskier. Jaskier reclined on the pillows, one hand teasingly rubbing at the growing dampness between his thighs.

“That oil isn’t going to fetch itself, Geralt,” he quipped, raising an eyebrow. Geralt chuckled and shook his head, going to their packs and searching for the coveted bottle.

Whilst Geralt was distracted, Jaskier quietly undid and shed his trousers and doublet, shivering as the cool air coated his flushed skin. His hands slid down his belly, nestling briefly in the thatch of hair at the junction of his thighs and then dipping lower, eyelids fluttering shut. Gods above he was _ready._ His cock bulged out from under its hood, hard and aching and the folds below were dripping hungrily. He smeared the slickness onto his inner thighs, giving his cock a few teasing strokes on the way back up.

The only hint Geralt had retrieved the oil was the faint clink as he placed it on the bedside table. He really would have to ask him how a man of his size could move so damned quietly. Then again, that was what made Geralt so damn _enticing_ to be around. And that control. If it were any other man, Jaskier was certain he’d have been pounced and slavered on like a bone before a starving mongrel. Geralt, though, simply stood there, waiting patiently, the only betrayals of his desire the blown pupils of his eyes and the _very_ sizable bulge in his trousers. The witcher fixed Jaskier with his gaze, promises of what he’d do in retaliation to Jaskier written in their depths. 

Jaskier swallowed dryly and then craned his head back. “You are wearing far too much clothing, Geralt. Be a dear and do something about it, won’t you?” No response from Geralt other than to silently begin undoing the laces of his tunic, exposing the pale muscled flesh beneath. Jaskier groaned, revelling in the thrill of holding Geralt’s invisible reins. In these moments, when Geralt gave himself over to Jaskier, they were not witcher and mortal, but lovers and equals.

There was the soft hiss of cloth and a muted groaned as Geralt stepped out of his trousers, and freeing his magnificent cock. A lesser man would have put such a blessing to shame, looking for any chance to share his “gift” with an eager partner, but not Geralt. Like the rest of him it stood proud and stoic, asking for attention but never demanding it. With a grin, Jaskier leaned in and gave the head a slow caress with his tongue, tasting the salty tang of precum oozing onto the heated skin. 

Geralt groaned, a shudder running from foot to crown. Well, even the most stoic of men could be allowed to slip when someone was tonguing their cock, Jaskier mused with a hum. He felt Geralt twitch in his mouth in response.

He pulled back, a spider silk thin string of spit stretching between them. His grin was threatening to bust his damned face apart as he wrapped a hand around the girthy beast in front of him, his fingers not even fully closing around it. Geralt’s cock throbbed in his fingers, the witcher’s slow pulse steadily rising with arousal.

“Jaskier,” his name came out whispered and sharp, like fingernails scratching on skin. 

He leaned back in the bed, pulling Geralt gently by the cock down beside him. Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt, smashing their lips together and here Geralt’s stoicism began to crumble just the slightest bit. His teeth tugged at Jaskier’s lip, tongue taunting the bard with delicate thrusts, still holding back.

Jaskier’s head fell back, groaning melodies falling from his lips. He reached blindly behind himself for the stoppered bottle of oil. Geralt leaned over him grabbing the vial and sliding it into Jaskier’s searching hand. 

The bard’s hand shook as he pulled the stopper out, thick drops of scented oil clinging to the blown glass. He poured a generous pool into his hands and began smoothing it over Geralt’s cock. Geralt rocked into his fingers, powerful thighs quivering, desperate to thrust into that slickened hand. 

“You’re so damned good, Geralt.” Geralt closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and parting his lips to taste their mingled scents in the air.

Jaskier withdrew his hand, feeling Geralt give an involuntary shudder and a faint growl at the loss of contact. The bard rolled over onto his belly, legs spread wide and shimmers of his own wetness coating his thighs. 

Hastily, he slathered oil onto his thighs grinding into his own hand as he did so. Glancing back, he saw Geralt watching him patiently, muscled chest rising and falling in deep hungry breaths.

He licked his lips, catching Geralt’s eyes. “Come get your reward, witcher.”

There was only the creak of the mattress to warn him before Geralt was upon him, pulling him onto his knees and sliding that wondrous cock between Jaskier slicked thighs. A breathless shout escaped his mouth as Geralt slid over and over between his legs, rubbing against his swollen, sensitive lips and cock. The wonderful weight of Geralt’s body beared down on his back, muscled chest and stomach molded to his hungry skin. Jaskier bit his lip to keep from screaming again. Geralt’s thrusts were long and brutally thorough, every inch of him rubbing against slickened hungry folds. 

Hungry fingers ghosted over his shoulders and down his chest, their calloused tips teasing and rubbing at his nibbles. A wrecked whimper escaped him, hips bucking back against Geralt’s. 

_Not yet_.

Trembling, he snaked a hand behind him and yanked savagely on Geralt’s hair, earning a deep snarl that vibrated through both their bodies. 

“Have I made you so desperate, witcher?” Another snarl in response, more feral than the last. Jaskier gasped, the ferocity in the witcher’s primal sounds overriding his brain and going straight to his cock. He ground himself on Geralt’s length and gave another sharp tug to those silver locks, the soft shining mass coming undone and sliding through his fingers. Geralt breathed deeply, burying his head in the crook of Jaskier’s neck and shoulder to steady himself, breath coming in hot puffs on lust inflamed skin.

“Wouldn’t want you spending early, now would we, hmm?” A grunt in response, nothing else. Jaskier wound a fistful of Geralt’s hair through his fingers, pulling more gently this time. Geralt licked at the tender skin of Jaskier’s neck before lifting his head and began thrusting again. The witcher set a slower, deeper rhythm this time, letting his cock drag agonizingly slow between the bard’s slicked legs. Jaskier could feel every ridge rub against his cock and slit, the weight and drag of it driving him mad.

“You are so fucking perfect, love.” There was a rumbling, pleased “hmm” at his back, and then a tongue darting out to lap up the sweat and scent from his skin.

Geralt curled an arm around Jaskier’s waist, fingers teasing the trail of hair on the bard’s lower belly. Jaskier groaned, hand sliding down to rest over Geralt’s, their fingers entwining.

He could feel Geralt slowly picking up speed again, slamming his thighs against Jaskier’s. Trembling, the hand in Geralt’s hair unfisted and slipped down to where Geralt’s cock slid against him. His fingers teased his own cock, rubbing at the slickness on either side of the head and beading out from under the hood. He fell forward, letting the thick arm Geralt wrapped around him hold him up.

Suddenly the thick flesh between his legs pulled back and was gone. “Geralt? Geralt I didn’t say sto- _ohhhh_.” 

The empty, aching space between his legs was filled with the thicker and far less forgiving strength of Geralt’s arm. He felt the roughened fingers climb over his cock, cupping the mound and thumbing the swollen head viciously. The arm hugging his waist tightened its grip, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.

Geralt leaned in, hissing against Jaskier’s ear, “Sing for me, little bard.” Geralt’s forearm flexed against his hungry slit, fingers circling and teasing his cock until Jaskier _screamed_. 

Jaskier had expected retaliation, just not quite so soon.

Geralt’s cock throbbed against his backside, still slick enough to glide between the globes of the bard’s ass. Jaskier whimpered, grinding into the hand ravaging him and tightening his legs around Geralt’s arm, loving the feel of the thick muscles of Geralt’s arm flexing and rubbing against his greedy, dripping lips. 

He gave a sobbing gasp as Geralt’s other arm drifted up from his waist to resume lazily stroking and pulling at his nipples. Stubble grazed his neck as Geralt bit down on his trembling shoulder, ripping another scream from his lips.

“You want more don’t you, you greedy thing?” 

Whimpering, Jaskier bucked back against Geralt’s solid body. “ _Please_!” A low rumbling laugh tickled along his back in response.

Geralt pulled his hand away from Jaskier’s front and gently shoved him forwards, engulfing him with his body and thoroughly pinning him to the mattress. Jaskier moaned with abandon into the sheets, suddenly past caring about decorum. Geralt ground his palm against Jaskier’s mound, fingers sliding back his hood and mercilessly jerking at his cock. He could feel the shudders building in his legs, climbing through his belly.

“So close,” he panted out, squirming against Geralt’s tireless attentions.

Jaskier felt Geralt’s lips split grin against his shoulder, the slow swipe of a tongue against his neck. Another sharp caress of teeth on tender skin. Fire building higher and higher until finally- 

“Let go, Jaskier.”

“Oh gods, _**Geralt**_!” He screamed the witcher’s name shuddering and clenching around that torturous arm, drenching it in sticky wetness before gasping and going limp beneath Geralt. Delicious, faint aftershocks quaked through his loins.

With a roar, Geralt came shortly after him, spattering Jaskier’s back with burning hot seed. Jaskier whimpered between fevered gasps for air.

Geralt collapsed to the side of him, wrapping his defiled arm around Jaskier’s lightly trembling body and pulling him close.

Jaskier settled in to the firm weight of Geralt against his back, pulling Geralt’s arm glistening arm and licking it slowly, tasting his own spend mixed with the tang of sweat. Geralt groaned, gently stroking Jaskier’s hair. The witcher chuckled faintly.

“I suppose telling you to just ask next time would be too much?” Jaskier craned his head over his shoulder and smiled up at Geralt, stroking his cheek.

“Ah, Geralt now where would the fun be in that?” Geralt snorted in response.

“Insufferable bard,” Geralt leaned over him and caught him in a gentle kiss.  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Leave a comment or kudos if you liked it!


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